


With Glasses High

by backontheground



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22589320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backontheground/pseuds/backontheground
Summary: The 9th of November starts like any other day for Gilbert.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	With Glasses High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampireNaomi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireNaomi/gifts).



> Hi!  
> So, this was meant to be a treat, but I realized just before posting that I misread something in your letter...  
> Anyway, this is a human AU set AFTER WWII, but it is also a Reunification fic. Kinda.  
> Also, for being a fic about Germany and Prussia, Germany doesn't really appear much.
> 
> (Aside from joking, if it's not to your taste and you'd rather not read it/that I don't dedicate it to you, please, feel free to tell me. This is on me for not reading your letter properly.)

When Gilbert wakes up on the 9th November the sky outside his window is dark and gloomy. There is nothing abnormal in that, unfortunately, as the city has already left the summer sun well behind, and he reluctantly gets out of bed, challenging the morning chill. In the kitchen a cup of tea helps with the cold, a bread roll staves off hunger until his first break of the day. Burning his tongue with the scalding beverage, _always too impatient_ , as his mum still says, he puts on his coat and then he is off.

A bit of sun finally comes out, the glare blinding him for a moment, and, while it is not going to warm him up much, Gilbert is still grateful for it as he shoots past familiar houses and parks. Frau Meinke, the baker, waves at him and he sends a grin in her direction, already far ahead. He nods to Herr Helmer, the 80-years-old with the cute dog and receives a bark in exchange. He lets himself imagine that the bark came from the owner, not the dog, and he smirks to himself at the idea, pleased by his own flights of fancy. The fantasy warms him up slightly, a small ball of heat alight in his chest, and he imagines himself trying to convince someone else of this, to trick someone smaller and already endearingly serious. _That cannot be_ , he hears, _don’t be a dummy!_ The flash of indignant blue eyes and a tiny frown has the opposite effect and all the heat is gone as soon as it came. He is glad when the post office finally comes in sight.

Gilbert dismounts his bike and goes in, not so much ready to start his working day, as ready for a distraction. He started working as a postman a few years before, when he was still in high school, with the intention of bringing some more money home before his parents retired. Now, slightly older, he is hanging onto the job after discovering the unexpected pleasure of cycling around the streets to bring good news, hopefully. He likes his job. _He likes to be busy_ , that’s what it is, he needs to be busy.

A full day zipping and zapping around the city means that he is kept very busy indeed, and by the time he is clocking out he congratulates himself for only thinking about him once. Now the only thing left to survive his day is his usual meeting with Eliza and then he hopes he will have tired himself out enough to fall asleep as soon as he touches his pillow. His parents spend enough nights sleepless for him too, anyway. He ignores the sting in his heart at the sight of all the blond kids running around as he heads towards their usual meeting spot. She has already changed out of her work clothes and is waiting for him, arms outstretched and football at her feet. He hugs her lightly and vainly tries to steal the ball from her, receiving a good push on his back as a reward for his effort. They are soon laughing aloud, attracting the attention of couples out for a walk and families enjoying the last moments of daylight. A small fluffy dog starts barking and running around with them, wanting to take part in the fun. Gilbert is soon eating mud because he may be a good football player, but Eliza is a beast and there is no way he is going to win this. Still he tries, turning, and jumping, and diving, because every time he stops to catch his breath his mind is spinning out of control and there are so many bad thoughts that he has to push down.

_Don’t think_ , as he trips Eliza, _don’t think_ , as she kicks him in the shin. _Don’t think_ , as he hugs her again and makes his way home, as he opens the door, as he hears the radio on and his father’s voice calling him.

“Gilbert!”

“— _deshalb haben wir uns dazu entschlossen, heute eine Regelung zu treffen, die es jedem Bürger der DDR möglich macht, über Grenzübergangspunkte der DDR auszureisen **[1]**_ \--”

“GILBERT!”

“— _Das tritt nach meiner Kenntnis... ist das sofort, unverzüglich **[2]**_ \--”

He gets back on his bike and he pushes and pushes and pushes. The checkpoint at Bornholmerstraβe is too far and too close at the same time, the people who are already there an endless ocean. He stands for hours, waiting and finally thinking about his baby brother who is probably not a baby anymore. He was, though, the last time he saw him, he was four, and tiny, small enough to fit in a suitcase, in the boot of a car. A suitcase that nobody checked, _Gott sei danke **[3]**_.

He doesn’t remember much about the night, just noise and walking as he crosses to the other side, running along the streets in search of an address, smudged by his own sweat and his mother’s tears. He remembers all those people running around him, hugging and crying and the city all lit up. He remembers a stranger telling him that “sorry, Herr Beilschmidt, but the people who used to live here moved years ago,” and “no, they haven’t left any forwarding address”. He remembers sitting down in a corner looking up at all the people in front of the Branderburg Gate and thinking _wow_ , just _wow_. And crying in huge, painful sobs, because he may be awesome, but nobody can be awesome enough not to cry on a night like this.

When he finally makes it back home dawn has come and gone and he is exhausted and elated and disappointed and desperate. He has been walking for hours, getting lost over and over again in the foreign city, in the foreign streets. He has no new address, no new name, no new lead. Nothing. He had one job and he failed, _he is a failure_ , and now he has to admit that aloud to his parents. He has to tell them, _I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, but I couldn’t find him_. Yes, that’s what he is going to say, even if it will break him, now he is going to open that door, open his eyes and say—

“Ludwig?”

There is someone looking at him, muscled body and big blue eyes, and he has changed so much, but there is no way that Gilbert would confuse him with anybody else--

“Bruder? [4]”

\--because Ludwig is and always will be his baby brother, and he has just come _home_.

[1] “that's why we decided today to make arrangements that make it possible for every citizen of the GDR to exit the

GDR at border crossing points.”

[2] “As far as I know, this occurs now, immediately”

[3] “Thank God”

[4] “Brother?”

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the lyrics of the the Pink Floyd song "A Great Day for Freedom": https://youtu.be/SHuI_FWCoPU


End file.
